


Another Chance To Lose it All

by lunarblazes



Series: we are the symphony [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft youtube, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream SMP Election, Dream SMP War, but writing this was super fun to think about, don't get me wrong he's done lots of bad shit, good amount of canon divergence, just some food for thought about if our protag was swapped, liz you bastard this is your fault, lots of flowery metaphors because do you know who you're talking to, my friend talked about this and my brain went brr, sympathetic dream hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarblazes/pseuds/lunarblazes
Summary: The duel and the trade from a different perspective.Dream's not sure he has the right to miss the days before the war.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: we are the symphony [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040993
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	Another Chance To Lose it All

Dream really didn’t want this, despite what everyone else seemed to think. He’d never wanted a war, he’d never wanted to be hated. He just wanted a nice place for his friends to get along, to have fun, to get to mess around with each other for a bit. For fun, for the laughs, for the little moments. He’d never wanted L’manburg to exist, that much was true, but look at where that had gotten them. Half the server reduced to rubble, fireworks booming in the night, and an obsidian flag waving above a broken nation in bitter exile.

In the end, the winners wrote history, but when there are no winners, who tells the right story?

He’d known what would happen the moment that Wilbur had begun talking about freedom. He wasn’t blameless, or stupid— only a fool would cleanse their own sins in a war such as this. He’d participated just as much as everyone else, even moreso than most. He’d killed, he’d pillaged, he’d broken everything. At the end of the day his hope was that this conflict would stick that little nation back together, hoped that it would at least let them find some semblance of peace.

His heart had ached when Tommy had insisted on a duel. Either way, it wouldn’t end well for him. He did care for the rambunctious boy, his heart so full of fire and his words laden with thorns and rough edges yet to be smoothed. Once Tommy had begun talking, he’d resigned himself to his fate. Tommy would never back down, and if he was to be the villain in this story he wouldn’t stop either. He couldn’t betray his friends’ effort like that. They’d helped him so much, given so much to keep their faction afloat during this conflict, and he couldn’t simply give up for a sentimentality.

Wilbur’s voice ringing out over the valley, Dream stared dead on at the stair in front of his face, at the shadow of the rising sun cast over the mountains. The pond next to them was clear and brilliant, the air sharp and crisp like a cold breeze in the midst of a forest fire. Out of place, yet comforting. 

6… 7… 

He breathed in behind his mask. The outcome of this little spat would determine the entire course of the server. He could feel it, and he knew Tommy would as well. He wondered what Tommy’s thoughts on the whole situation were. He probably thought he was fighting a revolution, revolting against some big, powerful leader in order to show his own competence. Tommy wanted to prove himself, more than anything. It was definitely at least half of the reason why this whole thing had started. 

8… 9… 

Dream’s hand tightened on his bow, his legs still weak from the poison he’d taken just a minute before. He tensed, stretching the toxin’s effects out of his muscles.

  
  


10 paces, fire.

For a shining, golden moment, the air was still. Not enough time for him or Tommy to react, only the tension in the air and the terror of the onlookers to fill time. A painting suspended in the midst of tragedy, that was what they were. History would not remember him well, but he’d make damn sure it’d remember him.

Dream spun, and to his surprise, an arrow whizzed by, just millimeters from his face. He’d barely managed to dodge in time, he realized. One more moment and he would have lost. That’s it, it’d be over, just like that. Further throwing him off was the small feeling of pride growing in his chest. He stared at Tommy, just for a split second, seeing the terror in the boy’s face hidden behind a mask of determination and cold anger.

Tommy had grown so much, but Dream couldn’t give up now. They were both trapped in their roles, locked into a hopeless battle with no winners, no morality in this world. He inhaled quickly, the warm air sticking behind his mask. Bow raised, he aimed. His hands were shaking… Why were they shaking?

The shot went wide. He could see Tubbo’s face light up as he allowed himself to consider the possibility of victory in this battle. He was so happy…

He needed to win. He had to. For the future of everyone, for the strength in unity. Tommy dove into the pond to dodge his second shot. The arrow sprang off and lodged itself in a tree, midway sunken into the deep bark.

_ Get a GRIP. _

Sapnap and George were standing just above the mountains, their shadows casting through the newborn starlight. He wasn’t sure what they’d do if he lost. He only knew that this was how it was destined to be.

Tommy was drifting in the water, suspended in place. His hair floated above him as he drew his bow once again, mouth set into a hard line, bent on victory.

Dream didn’t miss again.

He left shortly after, not saying a word to the would-be revolutionaries or his friends. They looked defeated enough. Wilbur was discussing terms of surrender to be decided on when Tommy respawned. Everyone’s eyes were so dull and grim.

His friends were so happy. The war had finally ended, and it was because of him. He’d successfully stamped out the rebellion now, gotten rid of the insurrection. Tommy had gone down as a martyr and they’d continue to live on SMP lands, obeying his rules and living by his degree.

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking.

Tommy had approached him later, offering the discs as compensation for their freedom. Dream stared at the things in his hands, smoothed and shining coal-black. They were marked with little pieces of tape that said what they played, giving the impression that they were normal discs, to be played at a party.

Dream knew differently. These were Tommy’s mementos, his tie to his past lives and the anchor that allowed him to find his way back after death. Giving them up to the enemy was… incredibly stupid. Whoever had your memento could literally warp your life and death. And Tommy needed to use his more than most. He died so often, from fall damage, from pointless arguing, from being set on fire.

Giving these up was a terrible, terrible mistake for Tommy, and yet Dream accepted. 

They would have their freedom in exchange for Tommy’s life. Just as if he’d won the duel, just as if that first shot hadn’t missed, had buried itself in Dream’s mask. The course of history righted in one fell swoop.

If that was true, why did it feel so terrible…?

After the war was done, Dream found himself hiding out more, distancing himself from those he wanted to call friends. Obviously, the L’Manburgians didn’t want him around, he couldn’t blame them, but over time he’d started to feel almost guilty when looking at his friends. His two partners in crime, so to speak, though that phrase had taken on a more literal meaning than he’d wanted in recent times. The times changed, the server did too, and Dream realized he really did miss his team. He missed George and Sapnap’s bickering, he missed their practice fights, he missed Sapnap’s stupid firecracker of a mouth and George’s shrill screams whenever they’d find something even remotely new. 

The birdsong in the trees would only do so much when skeletons lurked at every corner, and when nobody’s there to watch your back, the nights are cold and long.

Wilbur stared at him. Dream wasn’t sure if he liked the look in the man’s eyes, wasn’t sure if he wanted any part in this. Tommy was clearly put off, and he could see why. Wilbur was no longer a controlled, wise leader, he’d gone off the rails, straight into the darkest pits of the ocean without so much as a struggle. He wanted control, he wanted vengeance. Dream could understand that language, the language of war, the language of bloodshed. He knew it well and all the songs of the swallows in the trees and the wind blowing through his hair had not been enough to cleanse him of it. It stained him, a mark that was constantly ripped clean only to spring back in an instant.

“You wanted this, did you not, Dream?” Wilbur spoke the words, not asking them. Spoke them. Spat them out on a twisted tongue. “You wanted us to collapse. It’s how you’d stay in power.”

Is that what he’d wanted? He wasn’t even sure anymore. All he knew was that bloodshed was inevitable either way. 

“You’d love it if we tore each other apart, wouldn’t you?”

Protests bubbled to his lips as he stumbled for words, trying to excuse his sins. Wilbur didn’t let them surface. “If I go through with this, it’ll be more power for you. More control. You’d love that, just think! You’re smart, very clever and you know I’m right about this, Dream. There are no winners in war, it’s only who strikes first and who is hit.”

Dream’s head knew Wilbur was right, from his own experience. His heart yelled out, but the cries were strangled by the thought of George standing on that stage, looking out over a terrified crowd, smiling. Sapnap had vanished, off to some faraway corner of the lands. They were all falling apart, Dream knew it as sure as he knew his own name, and he hoped to god that they could still be fixed. “I-- I think sometimes, a leader-- a leader is unfit…”

He trailed off. Wilbur picked back up. “And that’s me. I am unfit, Dream, I can’t lead them any longer. I’ve been taken out. This is my swan song. A final goodbye to whatever this nation was.”

“Wil-- you can’t just do that!” Tommy cried. “That’s our home! Our nation! We can’t just leave it to burn because we weren’t invited!”

“What’s the alternative, Tommy? We invade illegally and destroy the beautiful buildings Schlatt’s made? We burn his farms, ridding our people of food? We kill his men?” 

Tommy seemed at a loss for words before quietly saying, “This isn’t right, Wilbur. You know that.”

“It isn’t about what’s right anymore. We’re in the wrong either way. It might as well be glorious.” Wilbur turned back to Dream, hands spreading wide. 

Dream handed over the TNT wordlessly. Wilbur grinned, giggling under his breath. “Thank you, Dream. I won’t let you down.”

Tommy’s swordpoint glinted in the torchlight. “Wilbur, please give me the TNT. Now.”

Dream’s heart twisted. He hated this. His limbs felt like lead as he stepped out in front of the boy, drawing his own sword. The situation was oh-so-familiar, the hidden terror on Tommy’s face like a feeling of terrible deja-vu. He forced the words out on his tongue, though they felt cold and tasteless like an ice cube pressed into his throat. “I can't let you do that, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. Wilbur’s laughs grew. “Oh Tommy, what did I say? He was never on our side! He only ever cared about power. He needs the control, the ability to monitor what we’re doing. If we kill each other in the process, why should it matter so long as we’re following his orders?”

Dream flinched at his words. This was really what they thought of him, wasn’t it? A faceless dictator? Was that really who he was now? His first thought is that George and Sapnap would back him up, they would say differently, but then the fresh wound of his last conversation burst open.

“You can’t keep hiding from everyone, Dream,” George had said, before all this went down. Maybe if he’d listened, things would have gone better. “You can’t prove them right by abandoning your post whenever you don’t have control.”

Dream had wanted to protest, but he’d simply stared until George had sighed and turned away. “Come back when you’re ready. Patches misses you.”

His grip on his sword loosened, his hands slick with sweat. Tommy’s face scrunched up, looking him over with disappointed realization. He’d known, Dream guessed, but hadn’t let himself think it until the possibility had a sword pointed at his head. 

The sun was rising again, on the doomed nation’s ruined walls and dark flag. He knew it would fill its fate in a week if Wilbur had his way. Tommy relented.

“This isn’t right,” he repeated, lowering his sword, “but if you say it’s what we’ll do, then I’ll follow you.”

“Thank you. You’ll see what it’s about when that city is reduced to a crater in the ground.”

Dream’s mouth tasted like ash as he watched Wilbur and Tommy retreat to their base. Tommy shot a last regretful look at him before vanishing into the cavern.

He needed to fix this, somehow. Where was George, where? 

Dream sheathed his sword and sprinted away, into the woods. It was time to pay a visit to some old friends.

**Author's Note:**

> fic title is from another rise, another fall by miami horror! a good representation of this whole situation if i do say so myself. i would gift this fic to my friend demizorua (please go look at their stuff on here i guarantee you'll enjoy it like hell) but i don't wanna bother them so. take my word for it when i say that their analysis of the tnt trade was the entire inspiration for this fic :)
> 
> comments are super appreciated! thanks so much for reading <3


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